


Dad

by vegas9000



Category: Rick and Morty
Genre: Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, F/M, Implied/Referenced Incest, M/M, Parent/Child Incest, Unrequited Love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-09
Updated: 2017-09-09
Packaged: 2018-12-25 12:15:00
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,593
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12035682
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/vegas9000/pseuds/vegas9000
Summary: It's past midnight and Beth is drunk. She reminisces her marriage with Jerry and her strained relationship with her late father, Rick.





	Dad

**Author's Note:**

> so here's my first finished rick and morty fanfic. i love all kinds of c137cest so chances are i'm going to be posting a lot more of it but for the time being have some rick/bet unrequited with some mentions of rick/morty 
> 
> please for the love of god give me writing requests and prompts at my tumblr: piss99.tumblr.com

        Beth is an entire bottle of wine into her drunken stupor. Midnight ticks in the clock, counting down the hours until the early morning while Beth drinks straight from the bottle. Every movement she makes to sort through Jerry’s leftover belongings causes her to sway back and forth, like Beth is swimming through oil or molasses. Her hands sluggishly place all photographs from their wedding day into an old cardboard box, Jerry’s discarded socks from underneath the bed and his collector item coins he’d complained about prior to the divorce. Maybe Beth is far too drunk, or she’s missing Jerry. She doesn’t miss his incompetence, his vulnerability and low self esteem, but when he had a backbone and a will to see the world. A part of Beth bubbles with anger the longer she spends recovering Jerry’s things, furious he could not be the man she needed and even more so that she was drunk and cleaning up after him. That, however, makes her giggle. It feels like an old tale to Beth but hurts all the same. 

 

        When Beth had quietly packed all of Jerry’s items, she lifted herself from the floor and parked it right onto the mattress. The bed creaks as she climbs onto the comforters, the bottle of wine slipping a lick or two before Beth can settle against the headboard. She brings the mouth of the wine to her lips but stops abruptly, grimacing at the dark liquid. Wine would never taste the same now. Its rich flavour would begin to bite back at her and Beth wouldn’t be able to enjoy it ever again. The rational part of Beth screams at her to drop the damn thing and go to bed, save herself from a day of puffy eyes and dehydration, and she listens for once. Beth cradles the bottle in her hands for a moment. Would it be bad to finish it all? Of course it would. Maybe it could be the bottle to give her a deep sleep hard enough she wouldn’t wake up in time for work, and Beth can’t have that. She’s the only income in this house anyways, so she firmly decides not to. Her hand fishes for the cork on the nightstand in the dark and pops it onto the bottle. She then brings herself up to her feet once again and trudges down the stairs through the house. All the lights are off and her children are nowhere to be seen, including her father. Beth partly doesn’t mind, but without Jerry’s nagging presence she almost feels too weak to venture around in her own goddamn house. No, no more Jerry, stop it Beth. Thinking about Jerry distracts Beth enough to have her skidding down the last step and stretching her ankle uncomfortably, but she’s far too drunk to process the pain. She simply shakes it off and continues her way to the kitchen. 

 

        In the cupboards, Beth finds a box of crackers and debates the snack. Her mind had always been her free will yet the wound is so fresh that everything keeps tracing back to Jerry, and how sometimes they’d judge each other’s weight like some game. She realises quickly that she isn’t hungry, she’s just bored, and that’s not incentive enough to indulge. Hell, the bottles of wine were already indulgence on their own. Beth shoves the wine into the cupboard and shuts it before she can justify any reasoning. Out of the corner of her eye, Beth witnesses a flash of Ghostbuster green light emanating from behind the garage door. Dad. And Morty?

 

        “Shh, Morty.” Rick whispers. “You’re, you’re gonna w-wake your mom up.”

        “S-sorry, Rick. I-I’m just, uh, real happy is all.” Morty replies, equally hushed. Without thinking the teen is pushing his face into his grandfather’s stomach, and Rick’s returning the gesture with an embrace and a few kisses peppered across Morty’s head. 

        “Yeah, yeah, I-I know, baby, I know.” Rick mutters underneath his breath and between pecks. Some are placed in Morty’s hair, forehead, cheeks and lips. Morty is eager to plant his mouth on his grandfather’s. Rick raises his hands onto Morty’s round jaw, cupping his face and kissing him passionately. Unbeknownst to them, Beth is only a few feet away and closely listening in. She mindlessly held her breath and let her heart race in her chest to the sound of her father kissing her son, yet nothing but longing and envy can be felt. To her surprise Beth isn’t angry or horrified as she imagined, but exactly far from that. Tears threaten to flood her baby blues the longer it continues, angry that her father isn’t kissing her. 

 

        “Go, Morty, go to bed.” Rick can be heard ordering, smile evident in the tone of his voice. Morty obeys silently and skips to the kitchen door, carefully turning the knob only to see his mom standing there. From that look in her pale face Morty can tell that something isn’t okay, but he knows that it’s not his place to ask. 

        “O-oh, hi mom.” The teenager says as he walks past her, wringing his hands together on the way to his room. “Night, mom. I, uh love you.” 

Beth doesn’t reply whatsoever, doesn’t look at her son for one more second until Rick is following suit inside the kitchen. Just like Morty, Rick is surprised when he notices Beth leaned against the sink. 

 

        “Beth, honey, hey.” Rick says immediately, walking forward to grasp her. “It’s, it’s 2 in the morning, baby. What’re you doin’ awake, huh?”

        The proximity is close to where Beth can smell the same amount of alcohol on her father as she is drunk. The rational reaction she’s quantified in her mind is anger, disgust and betrayal upon her discovery, yet Beth is far too weak and inebriated to deny the touch of her father. Rick’s hugs are strangely warm and comfortably despite his skinniness and lack of muscle. It would be exactly how Beth remembered it, if only she remembered what he was like before divorcing her own mother. His hand gently caresses her blonde hair in a manner Jerry never did, and the tears she wiped away before come pooling back.

        “Oh, dad.” Beth begins to cry, small whimpers leaving her painted lips as she squeezes Rick. Her father is quick to begin soothing her. 

        “Shhhh, baby, it’s okay.” Rick starts, cradling her equally drunken body in his arms as she cries. “I got you, daddy’s got you.” 

        “Please, dad, please don’t leave me.” Beth begs between her sobbing and clutches onto the fabric of his lab coat as if she’s stranded in the ocean and Rick is her lifesaver. 

        “I won’t, Beth. M’not gonna leave you, baby girl…” He reassures her. Beth spends the next two minutes crying her eyes dry into her father’s shirt. She eventually lets up and wipes the dampness from her cheeks, and notices that Rick is staring down at her with the softest expression imaginable. Beth can count and see all the wrinkles decorating her father’s face, reminiscing the pictures of him she used to hide from her mother underneath her mattress. Each picture Beth had of her dad were like chronological proof he’d been getting older every year he spent away from her. And there had also been infinite moments where Beth caught her mother burning, cutting or ripping portraits of Rick each time he came back and inevitably left. Beth refused to be the girl who never knew her dad, so she made it a mission during her high school years to carefully keep photos of him from her mother’s eagle eyes.

        But now, when Beth had put herself through the births of two children and the marriage of a lowly Jerry Smith, her long lost yet never forgotten father stood there nursing the heartache away from her. If she was still mad about his absence in her young life, Rick’s paternal instincts wouldn’t mean a thing to her. Yet here Beth was, gazing at Rick like she did the first time Jerry laid her down. Regret? None. Shame? No. Desire, envy, lust? Yes, but Beth would refute all factors that made up her daddy issues, and instead lay her soft and pink lips upon her father’s the same way she used to seduce Jerry. I’m not touch-starved, she’d tell herself, no I’m not jealous of the love he gives my son. I’m drunk, Beth thinks, I’m drunk and I need someone. 

        Rick’s brow furrows and his body stiffens because this is not what he wants, and this is now how it should be. He knows for a fact that it is his fault Beth is like this, knows that he should’ve been there and not snorting k-lax out of dimension, so he lets it happen. Rick doesn’t have the heart to deny her and hopes to God this will keep Beth quiet. 

        On the other hand, Beth is expecting Rick to kiss her back but it never comes. The loving smile on his face had turned pitiful as she attempted to persuade Rick further. Too many chaste kisses later and Beth finally begins to understand where her father stands, and she cannot blame him one bit. He looks back at her when she opens her eyes and stops. Rick doesn’t say a word and neither does Beth and the silence continues while the woman pulls away to guide her waving body to bed. 

        Beth wakes up late for work, hungover and with no recollection of the previous night. 


End file.
